Arabesque: A Wings Companion

Chapter Six

"It wasn't your fault," Laurel murmured, her cheek pressed against his shoulder.

"Five minutes," he rasped. "If I hadn't had that stupid argument with you about whether or not you should come with me to the Academy—it could have made all the difference."

"Or it could have gotten you killed by the same troll," Laurel replied, always too sensible for her own good. "Remember how helpless we were in Summer? A few minutes' difference and maybe we all would've been dead."

He turned to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her hair. Every moment he had with her, more than a decade later, was immeasurably precious. As though no amount of time could ever make up for those awful years when he was certain she was lost to him forever.

"I know you feel guilty about your sister," Laurel said, her murmured words a buzz against his skin. "And I know I've told you a thousand times that it wasn't your fault, but I'll tell you again. And again tomorrow, and the next day: it wasn't your fault." She looked up into his eyes. "One of these times, maybe you'll believe it."

Tamani sighed, a deep and lasting sound pulled from his very core.

"Have you texted your mother?"

Tamani groaned and ran his hands through his shoulder-length hair—always green at the roots, these days. Once upon a time he'd grown it single-colored to blend in with the humans, but these days no one who gave him a second look was noticing his hair.

"We should at least let her know Rowen's here. She must be worried sick."

"Rowen's seventeen. Mother won't miss her until morning." He dug into his pocket for his phone. "But you're right—we can head off that concern."

"I'll do it," Laurel said. "I know you hate texting." She took the phone from him and retreated a few steps, thumbs already flying. Tamani hadn't been convinced a phone would even work in Avalon, but when Rhoslyn found out they were going to plant a sprout, she'd insisted on either moving in, or coming to their home weekly to Garden for them. Tamani and Laurel would both have enjoyed hosting Rhoslyn, but Tamani had argued that Rowen would feel abandoned.

He took no pleasure in realizing just how right he'd been. Would even be possible to keep Rhoslyn away, now? How many fae was he going to have to smuggle out of Avalon before this was over?

The solar-charged satellite phone they'd managed to get working in Avalon rarely took calls, but texts generally made it through. Rhoslyn's visits weren't a secret, exactly, but Tamani's key was, and keeping it that way was as much Yasmine's problem as it was his. Even now, Tamani didn't want Rowen to know about it, but he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to keep it from her if she was going to be hanging around on this side of the gate.

While Laurel texted, Tamani stepped through the doorway to the conservatory they'd added on a year ago to nurture their sprout. Its stalk was tall, thick, and healthy, nothing at all like the spindly batch of sprouts Shar had found in Klea's laboratory. Tamani still cringed at the thought of growing scores of seedlings so carelessly, their change of survival minimal.

Of course, Klea had never been after healthy faeries.

"Your mom's probably asleep," Laurel said as she joined him, distracting him from his morbid reflections. "But she should see the message as soon as she wakes up."

"Thank you," Tamani whispered. He always spoke softly in this room—it was hallowed ground, as sacred as the World Tree, as energized as the Winter Palace. With the Academy's Gardener for his mother, Tamani had been raised around sprouts, played and laughed among their planter-boxes. But this sprout—his sprout—was something else entirely.